“Trust me,” Rivelin said with a frown. “I’m no happier about this than you are. Playing host to one of Isveig’s murks is the last thing any of us here want.”
He took a step around me, and this time, I let him pass. My mind tried to make sense of this new information. If the Elding attacked the waters around this island for six long weeks, what did that mean for the fate of the others who had been on that ship? Where was Thuri?
As an ice giant, she’d have a far better time of it out there than me, but I’d been the only one to wash up on the shore of this island. There was no sign of her or the rest of Isveig’s warriors. Could she somehow have survived? If so, where was she?
We reached the end of the path only moments later. The woods fell away to reveal a bustling village, even with the storm brewing in the nighttime sky. Clusters of homes dotted lush, rolling fields blooming with a kaleidoscope of colorful flowers. The sweet scent of them drifted toward me on the wind, along with the lilting voice of a bard and his lute. Every window was bathed in light. Every front door was wreathed in vines and flowers. And every burst of laughter sounded genuine and full of life.
My chest felt hollow. That was how Fafnir Castle had sounded all those years ago.
“That’s the inn.” Rivelin led me toward a cheery timber building at the edge of the village. The bard’s upbeat song grew louder as we approached, as did the laughter and the cheers. The window boxes were overflowing with jasmines and tulips, and vines of wisteria crept up the side of the building toward the roof. I cocked my head. That was curious. Wisteria normally didn’t grow on hot, humid islands like this one.
Hinges creaked as the overhead sign swayed in the wind, stronger now than it had been only moments ago. I glanced up as it rattled.The Dreaming Dragon Inn.
I arched a brow. “Curious name.”
“Don’t get any wild ideas. It’s just a name.”
He turned just as the wind gusted my wet hair into my face. I swiped it aside and called after him, “Where are you going?”
“Home.” He nodded at the door. “You said you needed shelter. There you go.”
“I don’t have any coin.”
A slight smile curved his lips. “Not my problem. Good luck, murk.”
3
DAELLA
Ifrowned at Rivelin’s back. He waltzed off like he didn’t have a care in the world. The bastard. When he vanished around the corner, I turned to face the inn’s door, steeling myself and schooling my features back into a pleasant, agreeable expression. I wouldn’t talk my way into a free room if I stormed in there scowling at everyone.
The storm gusted against my back, and a haze of mist sprayed onto my skin. Pain licked across my bare arms. I hissed through my teeth. If I didn’t find shelter soon, I’d be in a world of hurt when those heavy clouds dumped their rain.
I grabbed the door handle and pushed inside. A cacophony of sound consumed me, snapping my attention away from the lingering pain. Despite being within a tiny village that couldn’t be home to more than three hundred folk, if that, the inn was packed. Lanterns spilled soft, cozy light across the oak tables that filled the center of the floor, angled toward a small stage along the far wall. A small, floppy-eared bard with a long ginger beard stood on top of a stool, thumping his foot in time with the tune he played on his lute.
Grinning wildly, he spun on the stool. His booming voice went sharp when his gaze landed on my face. Suddenly, the music stopped, and every single eye in the room turned my way.
I beamed at them all, swallowing down the hitch in my throat. I was used to the scrutiny. Every time I left my tower, people whispered and stared.
There goes the emperor’s pet orc.
Truth be told, that was probably what everyone here was thinking too. If Rivelin knew who I was, there was no doubt the others in this village would as well. Even if my reputation didn’t precede me, it was difficult for us orcs to blend in these days. There were far too few of us left, and the entire known world knew it.
I lifted my hand in a little wave. “Hello. Which one of you is the owner?”
“That’d be me.” A shadow demon called out from behind the bar as she folded her arms on top of a wooden keg. Horns curved from the top of her head, much like Isveig’s, though hers were a deep, impenetrable black. A soft darkness gathered against her pale skin, pulsing with every beat of her heart. Unease whispered down my spine. Well, this was certainly unexpected. Isveighateddemons. Theirs was the only kingdom left in the land of the folk that he had not conquered, though he’d tried.
I walked over to the bar, my boots still squishing from the salt water logged inside the leather. The whole room remained silent, and the weight of everyone’s gaze was enough to make me shudder.
“I’m just passing through,” I said to her as quietly as I could. “I’d like a room for the night.”
“Is that so?” Her midnight eyes flicked to the emperor’s sigil on my shoulder. “Got any gold, or do you only have that fancy ice coin of Isveig’s? I’d also take a bag of Galdur sand, if you have any. We don’t get much of that around here.”
A few murmurs rose and fell like waves. I fought the urge to glance over my shoulder. Galdur sand was more prized than gold, due to its rarity. It could be one of four kinds: Fildur for fire, Vatnor for water, Vindur for air, or Jordur for earth. Anyone could use the sand to harness the elemental magic of the world, but you had to find some first. Not even Isveig had much of it.
“I’m afraid I have none of those things,” I said. “Everything I had got lost in the Elding. My ship was destroyed, and I washed up on shore here, and—”
“No coin, no room.”
